Does That Make Me Crazy?

I have a lot of things that give me the willies - leading me to believe I might be crazy.

I only eat with plastic utensils when available, because I can't handle the sound of metal squeeking and scraping on plates. It doesn't often apply to other people using metal utensils around me unless it makes a really loud squeak.

I am bothered by things that are "out of place". For instance, sunken ships give me the heebie jeebies like no other. Half-sunken ships or ships I can see from the surface are the worst. Because of this, much to Jon's dismay, I will never visit Pearl Harbor. Even the thought of it right now totally freaks me out. Another example is a common sight going in and out of DFW, where the planes "cross the street" via a bridge over the highway. Seems like one is always crossing over when I'm driving under. I also don't like driving closely past big planes or jets. I guess in my mind, it's just not normal for those big aircrafts to be parked like cars or driving over bridges. I also discovered this applied to people when I once saw a coworker up on a reeeaaally tall ladder in the sanctuary, replacing a light. Looking up at him sent chills down my spine and I had to walk away.

Sounds, like the utensils I mentioned, seem to be haunting me a lot lately. There are yummy granola bars that we love, and there is a coupon on the inside of the box. But the sound of scissors cutting this cardboard coupon out is enough to send me over the edge - so I leave it for Jon to do. It makes my shoulders shrug and my neck twitch, causing a sort of tick just thinking of it now or any time. I've been needing to buff my nails, but the sound and feeling of the buffer on my nails has been causing me to put it off indefinitely. The sound of styrofoam on just about anything practically sends me running, plugging my ears and humming.

Going to sleep is a big event and requires several different things to be "just right" before I can relax. Most of it involves my "stinky", which is my blanket I have to sleep with every night. I won't dare admit what's on the blanket, but that's not why I love it. It's worn in, feels so soft, is the perfect size and thickness. I love it. I can't even begin to describe the process or the requirements for sleeping, for fear that I'd be commited to an insane asylum. Jon has learned to deal with it and in fact most nights finds it quite humorous, waiting for me to get settled.

As I think of more things, I will post them. I don't know why I felt compelled to blog about this, but I think, like therapy, it helps to talk about things in order to begin to overcome them. I'm not yet bound by my phobias, but I don't ever want to be. I guess you could call this me taking preventative measures.

What makes you crazy?